


Marked

by MsImpala67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood Play, Claiming, Knife Play, M/M, Marking, Porn with Feelings, Wincest - Freeform, bottom!Dean, but it's obvious that sam bottoms too sometimes, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 16:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10167251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsImpala67/pseuds/MsImpala67
Summary: Dean and Sam already belong to each other. Why not mark each other permanently?





	

They’re flushed and tangled in the backseat, both of them ignoring the fact that they aren’t teenagers anymore and it’s hard for them both to fit comfortably now. Not that they care. They aren’t looking for personal space right now. 

Dean slides his leg over, sweaty limb rubbing up underneath Sam’s, and he manages to sit up without poking an elbow in any delicate places. 

“Fuck, Sammy,” he pants. “That was…”

“Yeah,” Sam grins back. “It was.”

They’ll be sore tomorrow from the way they just fucked, fast and furious with grunting mouths biting at each other, fingers digging everywhere, and now they’re spent. It’s the way they’ve ended typical hunts for as long as they can remember. 

It’s the thing that calms them down enough to sleep.

Only tonight, even with the windows down and the summer wind blowing hard, it’s a little too hot, and Dean knows he’s going to lie awake, sweaty and uncomfortable even after he moves to the front seat where he can stretch out without Sam. 

So he doesn’t hurry to get away, just sits and enjoys the feel of Sam’s skin against his, as normal a sensation as the cotton of his clothes. Sam runs a hand up and down his chest lazily, like he’s writing words there, while Dean angles his head to see through the back window to gaze at the stars. 

“Millions of ‘em out tonight, Sammy,” he says, like they’ve been having a conversation about them.

“Yeah?” Sam doesn’t open his eyes. Just shrugs. “You’re prettier.”

“Shut up,” Dean grins.

Eventually his gaze shifts, and he notices the initials carved into the car. A infinite supply of memories starts flashing through his brain, some sweet and innocent, some so painful he can’t stand it, some so hot he has to move on before he gets hard again. All of them so intense they make his chest tighten.

He glances from the initials down to his baby brother, nothing baby about him anymore, and stares. Sam is so perfect, with his messy hair and smart-ass smirk, with his computer brain and his kindness, with that dark and simmering anger that still rises to the surface every now and then. 

Dean wants to crawl inside Sam and stay there forever, right next to that beating heart that is the sound Dean would recognize even if he forgot his own name. He wants to belong to Sam. Wants Sam to belong to him. And not just with words.

“Do you trust me?” Dean whispers, voice hoarse and low.

Sam still doesn’t open his eyes, but his whole body changes. Relaxes even more just to prove his words. “Of course I do.” His voice is just as serious and heated as Dean’s, and it makes Dean shiver.

Sam does open his eyes when Dean reaches over into the front seat, digs around in the pile of clothes and weapons they dumped there, and settles back into the seat holding his knife. He doesn’t say anything, just turns the knife in his hands and lets it flash in the bright moonlight, asking the question for him. 

And Sam nods, body still loose and open, but new fire burning in his eyes.

Dean leans forward hovers over Sam for a moment before kissing him, wet and messy and possessive, biting at his lips so he can see how they swell. 

“Mine,” he says flatly.

“Yours,” Sam nods, ignoring how Dean has suddenly turned into a caveman.

Dean knows his knife is sharp enough, so he doesn’t hesitate, just puts one hand on Sam’s hip to hold him still, and quickly cuts the lines, shallow enough not to do permanent damage, deep enough to leave the permanent scar he wants. 

D.W. 

He watches the blood well up, little ruby droplets in the shape of his name, claiming Sam for good. 

And Sam doesn’t make a sound. His pink lips part and a gush of breath rushes out, but there’s no whimper or grunt of pain. 

Without thinking too much about it, Dean leans down and licks at the blood, tasting Sam’s life on his tongue, warm and metallic and perfect, a flavor he recognizes as _Sam_ even though he’s never tasted it before. Sam groans loudly then, lifting his hips to get closer, and Dean sucks harder, feeling Sam’s cock start to swell against the side of his face. 

“You like that,” Dean comments, gently kissing his way up Sam’s long body to his lips.

“I like belonging to you,” Sam answers, and Dean almost can’t handle the swell of emotion inside him at that rare declaration.

Dean hands Sam the knife then, and they clumsily shift position, Dean biting at Sam’s throat when it gets close enough. It’s the most natural thing in the world to lie back and let Sam brandish a knife, because there is no self-preservation or survival instinct when it comes to Sam. Dean will always let Sam take whatever he wants. 

Dean shudders when he feels the cool metal, a little slick with Sam’s blood, and Sam holds him down, makes quick work of carving his own initials the same way Dean did.

“Ohhh,” Dean moans, unable to stay as quiet as Sam did. It’s not the pain that drags the sound out of him, it’s the intense rush, the dizzy, almost _high_ feeling of watching Sam brand him, of seeing himself as he truly is. As _Sam’s_. 

It’s fucking incredible. 

It gets better when Sam leans down and sucks the blood away, a sharp pull and tug of skin, a jab of pain that stings in just the right way to make Dean claw at Sam’s hair.

And then they’re kissing furiously, teeth clashing as their tongues fight, nails digging into any muscle that’s close enough to grab. Dean pulls at Sam, but they can’t seem to get close enough, can’t seem to get where Dean wants them.

“Out of the car,” Dean growls.

“Bossy,” Sam retorts, but pushes the door open and untangles himself.

The night air is hot, not doing much to cool Dean’s skin, and that’s the way he wants it. He wants to feel every bit of this heat, of this rush of blood, pulsing away painfully on his hip. He wants there to be sweat dripping off of Sam’s skin and onto his.

Sam follows him to the hood of the car, sliding right in between Dean’s legs when Dean sits and pulls his knees up. He’s still loose and open, still slick with lube and Sam’s come, and Sam just pushes his legs apart and slides right in, mouth falling onto Dean’s as he does.

Dean falls back on the hood of his car with a thud, staring up at Sam’s face, a galaxy of stars in the sky behind him, and just _feels_ it, feels the stretch and burn, feels the blood smearing between them and seeping into the other’s wound, linking them even more.

Needing to own Sam as much as Sam is owning him right now, he sucks at his own fingers until they’re dripping wet, then reaches around to press them against Sam’s hole. He works them into Sam while Sam thrusts, until he’s three fingers deep and pushing hard, both of them getting fucked now, loud and hard, teeth sinking into flesh and the smell of sweat and blood between them.

Sam reaches down to stroke Dean’s cock, keeping their thrusting rhythm, and Dean throws his head back and prepares himself. 

Until Sam says “Don’t. Don’t come.”

They keep fucking each other, impossibly deep, smacking hips, slamming their bodies together hard enough to bruise. Dean needs to come, can feel how hard and thick Sam is as he throbs inside him and knows Sam needs to too, but they don’t.

They just keep going.

Somehow, they hold back, find new levels of restraint and new levels of raw and blazing heat burning them from the inside out as they move together, refusing to be the one to break. 

Dean’s going to die from this, and he’s going to die happily, exactly where he’s meant to be. 

Sam knows when to back off just enough, when to go a little harder, when to bite down on Dean’s shoulder just a little harder, when to scrape his free hand over the cut on Dean’s hip.

He never increases the speed of his hand on Dean’s cock, though, and they stay caught right at the edge, one foot hanging over, rush of adrenaline but no release, for what feels like hours.

Sam gets lost too, starts murmuring and mumbling, a rush of “needyouloveyoupleaseyespleasedeandeandeandean”, and Dean realizes that the strange, high-pitched whimpering is coming from his own lips, a perfect harmony to Sam’s rambling. 

And finally, they come, both of them going silent, Dean pulsing over Sam’s hand, Sam pouring himself inside Dean, all muscles rigid as the moment overwhelms them. It’s an intense freefall, crashing and hurtling toward each other until they hit and explode.

When they are able, they shift their position a little and Sam climbs up on the hood next to Dean. 

“Does it hurt?” Sam asks, trailing a finger over his initials etched into Dean’s skin.

“Nah. Does yours?”

“Not really, but we should definitely clean them so they don’t get infected.”

“Later.” Dean throws an arm and a leg over Sam and shoves his head right up into Sam’s neck, nose pressed behind Sam’s ear. 

They fall asleep right there under a blanket of stars and summer air, skin soaked in sweat and blood and come that belongs to both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated! Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoyed this! XOXO


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